Butterfly Wings
by ThatRosieSparkle
Summary: Draco is a tease; flitting to and from a confused Harry, unable to settle for any longer than the short breaks in the breeze that carries him through life. Something's got to give. AllGrownUp!Harry/Draco
1. Chance Meetings

**A/N: This has been written for a while now, I've just been wondering which direction I'm going to take the series in. This is the first long chapter I've written, this means business! Enjoy!**

_Chapter One_

Chance Meetings

"Come on, Harry." Ginny pulled at his arm, attempting to drag him away from the bar. Her vivid red hair flashed in the blue lighting, sapphire eyes roving wildly over Harry's features, a benign grin playing across her face.

"In a minute, Gin," he mumbled, extricating himself from her fumbling hands. She straightened up, disappointed, and pouted at him.

"Suit yourself, boring," she huffed, bending low to give him a peck on the cheek, "come find me," and she weaved away from him into the heaving crowd of dancing people.

Harry sighed and drained his glass, smacking his full lips as the alcohol burned his throat. His emerald eyes scanned the dance floor, trying to spot his girlfriend, but instead fixating themselves on none other than Draco Malfoy. He was swaying his hips in time to the pulsating music, platinum blond hair falling across his face, a loose black shirt hanging open to expose his pale chest. An arm was slung around his shoulder, hand playing at his neck.

Curious, Harry followed it past the wrist, elbow, shoulder, throat, his eyes coming to rest upon a striking face. Blaise Zabini had his other arm laced around Draco's waist, their hips glued together.

Harry spluttered. Gay? He had never expected that, although he could understand it completely.

He continued to watch the pair together until Ginny crept up behind him. Her arms snaked around his neck and he bristled.

"Shall we leave now?" she slurred, pulling at his collar, not waiting for a reply. He shrugged her off, annoyed. "What's wrong, baby?" she whispered into his ear, giggling, once again draping herself over him.

"Nothing I'd expect you to understand," he snapped, pushing her off. She stumbled backwards, tripping over her own feet and landing with a thump on the floor. Still laughing, she got unsteadily to her feet, swaying wildly.

"Come on, Harry," she almost shouted above the music, "why won't you put out? Afraid you'll get burned, bad boy?" she growled, wobbling dangerously, grinning and dancing like a mad woman, evidently off her head.

"Just go home, Gin, you're pissed," Harry muttered, embarrassed. Why did she always do this?

"Harry," she groaned, rolling her eyes, "you're so boring."

"Well go find someone more interesting then. Just leave me alone, will you?" he quipped, agitated.

Eyes widening in comprehension, Ginny flared up. "Alright then," she proclaimed, "I will," and she flounced away towards the nearest man to prove her point.

Harry sighed again, relieved. He'd been wanting to break things off with Ginny for weeks and had got the impression she had too. After all, they hadn't had sex for at least a couple of months, despite Ginny's efforts, and Harry knew she'd been sleeping around. Ordering another drink, he averted his eyes from Ginny and Theodore Nott, both smashed, and each trying to eat the other's face.

He cast his eyes around the club, trying to find a temporary Ginny replacement for the night, but instead his eyes were drawn again to Draco and Blaise who were now entwined, lips pressed firmly together.

Harry felt a flush rise in his cheeks and quickly looked away from the couple, returning to his drink, mind wandering back to his and Ginny's most recent fight.

_He had been at home, slumped on the sofa in front of some awful muggle soap when Ginny had stormed in, livid. He'd looked up to be met with several magazines being thrust into his face. "What are these?" she'd demanded, waving them furiously under his nose. He glanced down at them and blushed profusely, embarrassed and caught off guard._

"_I bought them for you!" he'd tried, "I think it's hot, don't you?" His mind was racing as he attempted to switch to dirty talk to distract her._

"_No, actually, I think it's disgusting," she stated, matter-of-factly, evidently not fooled. "Muggle Porn? You're not gay are you, Harry?" Ginny had always been fairly straight to the point._

"_No!" he'd frantically protested, "just… curious." Ginny snorted. "There's nothing wrong with that."_

_She fixed him with a piercing stare. "Is this why we haven't been…"_

"_No, Gin, God no! I'm just stressed with work and… stuff," he'd cut in, "They mean nothing, okay? I honestly just thought you might be into that kind of thing."_

Yeah, right.

Harry made to glance again at Draco and Blaise but saw that the blonde was now alone, and looking extremely pissed off.

_Not a good night for relationships_, Harry thought to himself, finishing his second Firewhiskey and sliding from his chair. As he left the club and entered the cool night air he heard Blaise muttering to himself as he stalked down the street. "Fucking prat, so self-fucking-absorbed… always fucking complaining… demanding little fuck…"

"Charming," came a drawl from behind him.

Harry spun around and was met by Draco Malfoy's sharp grey eyes fixed amusedly on him, eyebrows slightly raised.

"Oh, hi, Malfoy," Harry stammered. What? Why, all of a sudden, could he not form a coherent sentence?

"I saw the Weaslette with Theo," observed Draco, looking searchingly at Harry.

"It was a long time coming," Harry shrugged, kicking the floor.

"You don't seem too put out by the fact that you have just finished a major relationship in perhaps the tackiest way possible."

Harry flushed, but Draco continued. "Personally, I don't know what you ever saw in her anyway, Harry. She's got far too many freckles and she's crap in bed." Draco leant nonchalantly against the wall and took a drag on the Java that had been dangling from his slender fingers.

Harry gawked. He did not know Draco Malfoy had been one of Ginny's drunken conquests.

"Want one?" asked Draco, offering Harry the packet of cigarettes.

"No thanks," replied Harry, unable to keep the disgust out of his voice. Draco quirked an eyebrow at him and slid the box back into the pocket of his remarkably tight fitting jeans.

"I used to have a crush on you at school, you know?" Draco remarked after a moment's silence, eyes on Harry, gauging his reaction.

"Erm, no. I… didn't. Know that," Harry mumbled awkwardly, staring fixedly at the floor.

Draco grinned wickedly and dropped the now dying cigarette onto the ground, stamping it out with his heel. In doing so, he managed to end up standing directly in front of Harry, who pressed himself up against the wall in order to avoid getting too close to the former Slytherin.

"I still do, really," whispered Draco, sliding his tongue over his full lips. Harry let out an unconscious whine, causing Draco to lean ever closer. "Do you ever," he started softly, "think about me?" Harry didn't say anything, but Draco could guess the answer from the way Harry's lids fluttered shut, his breaths quickening.

Harry's emerald eyes flickered open again, only to be met by stormy orbs of grey staring back at him. He could feel Malfoy's arms on either side of him, his warm breath on Harry's neck.

What was he doing?

Draco leant in closer, if possible, closing the tiny gap between him and Harry, yet stopping the tiniest distance away from where Harry wanted him.

"Do it," panted the raven-haired man trapped beneath him.

With the aggression of a wild animal, Draco roughly pushed his lips against Harry's, crashing down upon him like a wave upon rocks. He forced his tongue into Harry's welcoming mouth, battling with Harry's own for the right to explore.

Pale, roaming hands slid underneath Harry's shirt, fingers tracing his spine, dancing over his skin.

Draco pressed himself into Harry, grinding their bodies together against the rough wall.

Harry's head was resting against the cool stone behind him, back arching in pleasure and want.

And then Draco pulled away, just as suddenly as he had pounced, eyes glittering.

"See you around, Potter," he called over his shoulder as he strutted out of the alley and away from the club, hand slipping into his pocket for another Java before he turned the corner out of sight.

Harry remained leaning against the cold stone wall, heart racing.

What had just happened?

**Yayness! I hate smoking, but the image of Draco acting all nonchalant with smoke curling from his mouth actually turns me into jelly, so never mind. **

**I am definitely following this up with something (it SHOULD be up within a week… or two?), but tell me if you think I should anyway.**

**Go! Review!**


	2. Recollections

**A/N: I am sorry for how long this has taken, because it has taken a hell of a long time. I am easily distracted by shiny things, like new laptops. And I am sorry again for how irrelevant this may seem. But in the grand scheme of things (and believe me, the scheme is grand indeed), it is necessary. Thank you so, so much for putting up with me and how slow I am. Enjoy!**

_Chapter Two_

Recollections

Sunlight: it poured through the wide kitchen window and onto marble surfaces that gleamed at its touch; danced its way through the air, tip-toeing up Harry's arms and cupping his face in its warm hands; burned through his lids and projected a mesmerising criss-cross pattern of red against red into his blurry mind.

One of Harry's tanned hands nursed his temple, the other a steaming mug of coffee which filled the room with its rich aroma. He inhaled, taking in the comforting smell and blinking open his emerald eyes as they adjusted to the blinding onslaught of light they were met by.

A hazy memory of the previous night floated into his consciousness, but as he grappled with it, trying to sharpen the image, it simply wafted away again into the part of his mind that could only be unlocked with copious amounts of alcohol.

Of the night before, Harry could remember very little. All he knew at the moment was that he had finally broken up with Ginny, and even that was only because there was no other feasible explanation for the vindictive message scrawled on his mirror in lipstick.

He massaged his throbbing head, attempting to coax out some clues as to why he had such a horrific hangover. There had been alcohol - lots of it - that he was sure of. But there was something else that was bothering him. Why had he thought that drinking himself into oblivion was necessary? How could it have ever seemed to be a good idea?

_Malfoy._

Harry scratched his neck with unease. Had he been picking fights? The former Slytherin gnawed at the back of Harry's mind, white blond hair weaving its way through his thoughts. Why Malfoy? Why now?

He brushed his childhood enemy away, focusing instead upon remembering fully the previous night.

Strong fingers traced patterns on the dark wood table absent-mindedly, Harry's other hand lifting the coffee cup to his lips, the intense flavour washing over him and dragging him back into the world of the living. As he slowly woke up, Harry's mind sharpened; blurred memories and flashing images coming into focus.

One thing Harry could recall frighteningly clearly was the smoke: tight curls of it winding their way through the thin night air; wisps of intrigue and excitement that snaked in tendrils around a long cigarette dangling precariously from slender, sultry fingers. Artist's hands. Thin wrists. Exposed forearms, rolled up sleeves.

Harry struggled with his memory, desperately probing his mind for clues, attempting to rebuild this person piece by piece, picture by picture.

A tint of red blushed on Harry's cheeks as he remembered where those hands had been; roaming unchecked under his shirt. He remembered; the other man's had been unbuttoned, hanging loose.

Male? Harry thoughtfully studied his palm as if it might hold some answers. He tried to imagine Ginny naked, but wrinkled his nose involuntarily at even a hint of her freckled chest. It was nothing compared to the alabaster expanse of delicate skin rippling over raw muscle that had been exposed by that black shirt. Cool, black cotton that had fluttered against Harry's burning skin.

Soft lips had traced Harry's neck from collarbone to jaw-line and, sitting in his kitchen, he instinctively leant back his head in response to the phantom kisses. A ghost of a face tilted back, grinning up at him, to reveal hazy features; arrogance splashed across them and glinting in the mercury eyes.

_Malfoy._

Realisation jolted through him like electricity, dousing him in icy disbelief. Vivid memories of what he had done crashed into his awareness, bringing with them utter confusion.

And in the middle of it all was Malfoy: black shirt, swaying hips, pale skin, grey eyes, self-assured smirk, platinum hair, tight jeans, everything.

Harry almost laughed, the overwhelming number of times he had sworn to rip the Slytherin to shreds or curse him into tomorrow at school replaying themselves quietly over and over in his head.

_If I could see me now,_ he sighed, taking coffee in hand once more, swirling the contents slowly, the gentle sloshing it made and rich burst of flavour it released sending waves of calm through him.

The more he remembered of his encounter with Draco the more he wished he hadn't. With every detail recalled, he only became enraptured even further with the blond.

Draco had been wearing a ring. Why Harry remembered this in particular was beyond him, but he had been. A thin, silver band that had glinted in the glow from his cigarette; sent shivers up Harry's spine when the cold metal briefly touched his back; flashed orange from the streetlight as Draco had thrown a casual wave over his shoulder at a bewildered Harry.

After having been so spectacularly snubbed, Harry had stormed straight back into the club and drank his bodyweight in Firewhiskey, insisting loudly to a bored-looking bartender that being single again was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Ever. End of.

Cringing at the thought, Harry vowed silently to himself never to touch the drink again and wondered why Draco had acted so flippantly. He remembered the grin that had lit up Draco's aristocratic features, wickedness dancing in his eyes. But behind the playful exterior, Harry had sensed something deeper, more sinister. Sadness? Loneliness? What did it matter?

Harry shook himself. He did not care if Malfoy was sad or lonely. The former Slytherin certainly hadn't had a difficult upbringing, judging from what Harry had seen, and he had no reason at all to act the way he did other than pure malice. He had taken advantage of Harry when he had been upset, catching him unawares, cornering him. _He practically raped me,_ Harry thought indignantly.

His coffee had started to go cold, and Harry stared at it morosely, desperately trying to rid himself of the all-consuming desire to see Draco again. Pin him up against a wall, see how he liked it.

And, despite himself, he slowly drifted into a world of his own; fantasies brimming with Firewhiskey, black shirts, tight jeans and deserted alleys filling every part of his disobedient mind and leaving his coffee all but forgotten, stone cold in the sunlight.

**Ta da! Review?**

**Please?**


	3. Forget it

**A/N: I am SO SORRY this took SO LONG. Please don't eat me. I got distracted by the discovery of another, equally delicious and addictive pairing. However, I am back on track and have returned my attention wholly to Harry/Draco and this. As the chapter before it, this may not seem important but it is, trust me on this. Enjoy!**

_Chapter Three_

Forget it

Harry frowned, staring intently at the candlesticks in front of him. One pair was tall, sleek and silver, gleaming elegantly in the light pouring through the shop window, reflecting Harry's emerald eyes perfectly back at him. The others were shorter: gold and battered antiques that glittered in the sun's gentle glow, basked in warmth. He eyed each extortionately expensive option carefully; mind running through a mental tour of Ron and Hermione's house in search of clues that could sway his decision.

Thoroughly absorbed in contemplation as he was, Harry didn't even notice the tinkling ring as the door to the store was opened, nor the footsteps padding along the carpet in his direction until a cool, arrogant voice declared loudly, "Look, Panse, I still don't see why _I_ have to come."

A calm reply floated across the shop. "Because I've been invited, Dray, and need you there to keep me sane."

Platinum blond hair peeked over the top of a row of shelves, shining like fine, delicate strands of white gold in the dancing sunlight. "But why are _you_ going?" Malfoy demanded, exasperated.

Pansy Parkinson ground her teeth as she looked idly at the ornaments and trinkets lined up in front of her. "Because, Draco, were I to decline Weasley's generous invitation," – Malfoy sneered – "I would be the only one in the entire department not going.

"So?" Draco picked up a crystal photo frame and examined it disdainfully.

"So I don't want to look rude, Dray," Pansy explained, irritated.

Harry listened to their conversation in dismay, following Draco's bobbing head with wide eyes. Why was Malfoy going to the wedding? Why oh why? He inwardly cringed at the thought of the smug blond's attractive face smirking up at him during his best man's speech, causing him to stumble on his words and make a fool of himself. Why did this have to happen now? Why had that had to happen?

Returning his attention to the troublesome candlesticks, Harry's mind wandered, remembering strong hands that had slid up his shirt, the slight frame pressed against his chest, short breaths that had ghosted over his cheeks.

The two former Slytherins rounded the corner at the end of their aisle, turning into another shelved walkway that was filled with candles.

Harry spotted them in his peripheral vision and cursed himself under his breath for being able to make such a simple decision take so long.

Across the cream carpet, Malfoy stood up after kneeling to inspect a spectacularly large candle that was intricately carved into the form of a dragon, wick poking out of its open mouth. His bored, grey eyes came out to Harry, who had been too slow in averting his gaze so as to avoid acknowledging Malfoy.

Cornered, Harry smiled awkwardly, blushing, expecting Malfoy too to give a small nod and turn away, as was customary after drunken mistakes. Draco, however, curled his lips into a cruel grin and called over to his friend, "Well, look who it is, Panse, the-boy-who-wouldn't-die-and-subsequently-managed-to-save-us-all, aren't we lucky?" Pansy lifted her dark head and looked towards Harry. His lips twitched awkwardly as a greeting, and Pansy simply returned her attention to the candelabra she had found.

Malfoy, on the other hand, continued to sneer at Harry as though he was a particularly vulgar looking species of slug that had dared to crawl out of the primordial ooze and into his presence.

Harry raised an eyebrow questioningly, wondering if Draco had forgotten their previous encounter, although Harry couldn't recall him being particularly inebriated at the time.

This did not go down well. "What?" Draco demanded indignantly in response to the insinuation that he and Harry had been or could ever be on even vaguely friendly terms, "Just because you saved the world doesn't mean I have to like you." He crossed his slender arms and directed a steely glare straight at Harry, pinning him down with his eyes.

Harry floundered and flapped under the piercing stare, self-conscious and taken aback. Whatever had happened between them obviously wasn't something Malfoy was happy with.

He furrowed his brow in confusion at the snubbing, green eyes shining with hurt. Malfoy threw him a cold, dismissive glance and nudged Pansy with his foot. "I'm bored of candles now, what about plates?"

"Good idea," responded his companion, eyes lingering on the ebony candle-holder she'd been admiring, "I might come back for that later."

Draco rolled his eyes, "Yes, because that's what you need: more rubbish." Pansy hit him lightly as the walked away, Draco's playful tone carrying back to Harry, "Honestly, Panse, your apartment won't be able to cope. How much junk does one person need?"

"It's not junk!" she protested, her voice eventually fading as the pair headed towards the kitchenware.

Harry fumbled to pick up the stockier candlesticks, annoyed and embarrassed after Malfoy's cold-shouldering of him. _Gryffindor gold,_ Harry thought vehemently to himself as he headed towards the till, clutching the presents, _No tacky Slytherin silver for my friends._

The candlesticks were wrapped in paper and handed back to him. He paid and left in a bad mood, pushing open the door scowling.

_Slytherins are stupid,_ he reasoned sulkily.

**Again, apologies for the incredibly slow delivery. I promise, promise, promise that the next chapter will be up within a matter of days, a week at the most.**

**Reviews make me write at super-speed.**


	4. Persuasion

**A/N: This did take a little longer than expected (i.e. I lied before), but has become rather much longer than I first thought it would be. I hope that makes up for the wait. Enjoy!**

_Chapter Four_

Persuasion

Scowling at the mirror, Ron awkwardly flattened his hair and smoothed out his suit, rampant hands patting and prodding anything that wasn't exactly in the perfect place. His fingers trembled slightly as he readjusted his golden cufflinks, but were steadied by a large, strong hand placed over his own, pulling it away from his sleeve and pressing a cool champagne flute into his open grasp.

Harry grinned at his best friend and tipped his glass towards the shorter man. "To marriage," he toasted, clinking crystal against crystal and taking a sip of the wonderfully fizzing alcohol.

"To marriage," Ron echoed nervously, pouring his drink down his throat and smacking his lips. Harry chuckled in amusement and Ron threw his best man an exasperated look.

With a wicked smile, Harry reassured the nervous groom, "You can still walk out if you want to – that is, if you fancy your chances against a hoard of rabid women in high, spiky heels, of course."

Ron half-laughed, shrugging his shoulders. "Suppose I'll have to stay then." He swilled his champagne in its glass.

Harry fixed his friend with a piercing look, warm green eyes radiating reassurance. "You've loved Hermione since God-knows-when, mate. I think you're going to be fine." Harry's expression softened as he joined the red-head in looking in the mirror.

"Yeah," murmured Ron, slightly more confident as he straightened the flower through his button hole.

Harry glanced at his watch and downed the rest of his champagne. "You ready?"

Ron's freckled face turned to look at the door that would take them straight through and into the church. His face split into a wide smile as he replied, "Always have been, mate."

--

Harry tugged at his maroon tie, loosening the suffocating hold his shirt had on his poor neck. He undid the top button of the white cotton garment and settled back in his chair, legs stretched and crossed underneath the linen-covered table, hands fiddling absently with the confetti strewn across the cream place-setting.

As he turned to answer Ron's crude drinking mime aimed in his general direction – "Guinness, mate. Cheers!" – Harry saw another figure slump, exhausted, into the chair opposite. He grinned and looked at them through the centrepiece of flowers, only to be met by a disinterested pair of grey eyes half hidden by platinum blond hair. Malfoy lifted his gaze and raised his thin eyebrows upon realising that it was Harry scowling at him from behind a bunch of very Gryffindor red roses.

"Lovely ceremony," drawled the Pureblood, steely eyes sparking with mischief, "I thought the Hippogriffs were a particularly tasteful touch."

Harry sighed, "Lay off, Malfoy, it's a wedding. Just -" He paused, looking defeated, tiredness etched into his frown. "- Just, leave us alone." Through the mop of black hair, a pair of vivid green eyes were lifted to glare directly at the former Slytherin, "For once." The lids lowered once more and the contact was gone, connection evaporated.

Draco listened to Harry's weary plea in silence, mouth slightly open as he was politely asked to, basically, fuck off. He furrowed his brow, leaning forward. "No, I mean it," he gushed. Harry shot him a quizzical look. "I've always wanted Hippogriffs at my wedding."

Their gazes held for a moment, until Draco looked away sheepishly from Harry's amused face. His eyebrows were quirked and his full lips had twisted themselves into a tight smirk. Draco felt flustered and embarrassed at having blurted out such a trivial, intimate thing to his supposedly-sworn enemy.

"Oh?" pressed Harry, waving away a curious Ron who set his drink down in front of him, "I thought you hated them."

A tint of rosy pink crept onto Draco's alabaster cheeks and he roughly began to pull apart one of the roses in front of him. "Of course I don't hate them. Third year – that was just to get at you." He poured the shredded petals onto the creamy cloth, spreading them out with his slender fingers, tracing patterns and lines in the red rose confetti he'd created. "Beautiful creatures," he murmured, distracted.

Harry pondered the man in front of him. It was as if someone had taken the Draco from the gift-shop and punched him inside out. There was no icy stare, no whiny drawl, no harsh words, no haughty smirk. He was still, undoubtedly, Draco Malfoy, in all his arrogant, pureblood glory, but the razor sharp, cutting edge had been taken off. Or worn away.

Now bored of the ruined rose, Draco turned his attention to Harry, cocking his head to one side and saying, "Didn't your mother ever tell you it was rude to stare?"

Harry's face fell, taking Draco's light heart with it. The raven-haired man looked downcast, emerald eyes gleaming with long-endured sadness, their usual lively spark replaced with glistening pain. He looked away from the man he'd been studying. "No," he muttered quietly.

Draco ran a hand through his white-blond locks. "I'm sorry, Potter, I didn't mean -"

"S'fine," said Harry, quickly, taking a long draught from his glass of dark bitter. The warmth in his face had evaporated, leaving a stony expression in its wake, "Slip of the tongue."

An awkwardness settled between the pair and Draco pulled nervously at his collar. _Git should feel guilty, _thought Harry maliciously, _nobody bloody blanks __me__ after a midnight grope and gets away with it._ He relished in the stagnating silence, enjoying watching Malfoy squirm: his Slytherin demeanour was out of place and ill-fitting in a room so full of Gryffindor cheer.

Just as Draco began to look as though he was considering bolting for the door, Pansy Parkinson crept up behind him, clasping his shoulders with red-nailed fingers and whispering in his ear, "I'm off. This dashing red-head has _very_ kindly offered to take me home."

Draco shot a look at an eavesdropping Harry that clearly said, "Keep your enormous Gryffindor nose out of my business," and Harry looked away sulkily, flicking a hand up in acknowledgement of George, who was leaning nonchalantly against a table behind Pansy.

"Go, go. I'll be fine," hissed Draco, annoyance creasing his forehead slightly. Pansy let out a small squeal of appreciation and kissed Draco on the cheek, pausing as she turned away to shoot a questioning glance at Harry, who had busied himself with poking his finger through a tiny hole in the tablecloth. Draco raised his eyebrows and shooed Pansy away towards George, who greeted her with a flamboyant bow, offering her his arm with a sly grin.

Draco shook his head and turned to Harry, who had furrowed his brow in confusion at the sight of Pansy and George leaving hurriedly together. He looked back at Draco and shrugged, "At least someone's getting some tonight."

"Jealous?" ventured Draco, setting his elbows on the table in order to rest his chin on his interlocking fingers.

Harry snorted and didn't answer.

The pair sat in quiet; Harry idly watching the dancing couples to their left, Draco intently studying Harry. The best man looked lonely and miserable.

Pushing back his chair suddenly and standing up, Draco commanded a puzzled looking Harry, "Don't go anywhere," before sweeping off in the direction of the bar.

The last time Harry, Draco and alcohol had been put together flashed briefly in Harry's mind. He considered walking away while Draco wasn't looking and shutting himself in the toilets for the rest of the night, or simply hiding under the table. He even began to search for Ginny among the throngs of people scattered around the large room, but was interrupted by the sound of chair legs scraping against the wooden floor and Draco setting two glasses of deep, blood red liquid on the table.

"Voilà!" proclaimed the blond, sliding one of the drinks towards Harry, who merely looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. "It's a Snakebite," Draco explained.

"How appropriate," muttered Harry, bringing it towards his face and taking a cautious sip.

Draco took his own glass in hand and watched the raven-haired man next to him amusedly. "Good, no?"

Nodding vaguely, Harry glanced around anxiously, finally fixing Draco with an almost fearful look. "This probably isn't a good idea," he said, pushing a strong hand through his thick, black hair nervously.

"Pish," scoffed Draco, taking a drink of the dark crimson cocktail, "loosen up, Harry. It's a wedding." He set his glass down, hypnotising grey eyes holding Harry captive in his seat, leaning imperceptibly closer and licking his full, pink lips. One of his hands found its way onto Harry's thigh and Draco brought his mouth to Harry's ear. "Pansy might not be the only one to get lucky tonight," he whispered, breath ghosting across Harry's neck, grip tightening on his upper leg.

Harry gulped, trying to ignore the feather light kisses that were tracing his jaw-line, or the slender fingers that were edging their way further up his thigh. _No!_ he scolded himself angrily as his head tilted back in order to allow Draco access to his throat.

Pulling away and grinning hungrily, Draco eyed Harry: the flush of his cheeks, the lust in his eyes, the rapid rise and fall of his chest. He grabbed the former Gryffindor's tie and pulled himself closer, touching their lips together for the briefest, most tantalising moment before breaking away again. "Mine. Now," he commanded the lost-looking man beneath him, who nodded dumbly and stood up, dragged by the satin noose around his neck.

As they twisted on the spot and began to disappear, Harry tightly clutching Draco's slim waist, Draco smirked and wound himself around the raven-haired man, teeth scraping against burning skin and eliciting a soft moan.

_Easy._

**Hurrah! I'm not making any promises for the next chapter, as I always seem to break them, but it shouldn't take too long.**

**Reviews make me write quicker! Go!**


	5. Flippancy

**A/N: Right, I've finally gotten this fic back on track, and am slightly ahead of myself so I can update at least vaguely regularly. A huge WELL DONE goes out to anyone who has had the patience to keep reading, despite my major screw-up on the inspiration front. So: sorry, and enjoy!**

_Chapter Five_

Flippancy

Harry shifted in his seat, wincing slightly as bruised muscle pressed against hard wood. Ron was away on his honeymoon and, with the department needing someone to come in and pick up the slack, a meeting had been called. Tired head drooping wearily, Harry heard Kingsley's deep, chocolaty voiced finish, "- Welcome aboard, Mr Malfoy."

Emerald eyes snapped up and Harry groaned silently to himself upon seeing the trademark smirk and platinum blond hair. Draco raised a hand in greeting at the team who mumbled back hellos – some with indifference, others with reservation or contempt, blatant mistrust of the dubious Slytherin still lingering from the war.

Knowing what was coming next, as Ron had been his partner, Harry grimaced and lifted his gaze to meet Draco's cool, grey eyes. Kingsley continued, "Harry will show you around, you'll be working with him for the fortnight."

A flash of annoyance flickered in Draco's expression, but his face was soon painted again into an aloof mask as he strutted over to the helpless former Gryffindor with which he was to cooperate. He sat down with a flourish next to Harry's desk and flashed him a wicked smile, before looking expectantly at the other man and fiddling idly with a discarded quill.

He was just fingering the engraved lettering on the gold of the fine nib when it was snatched roughly out of his delicate grasp. "Thank you very much," reprimanded Harry, rather haughtily, and Draco looked disdainfully at him from behind stray strands of silvery blond.

It took all of Harry's will and self control not to gape, open mouthed, at the mind-blowing way Draco's sparkling, diamond-like eyes glittered in the artificial sunlight pouring in through the window, or how his silver blond hair fell into his face _just so_: artfully casual, perfectly unkempt. His skin was like cool, pale marble, yet softness was evident in the way long, slender fingers stroked unconsciously at his cheek, chin rested upon an aristocratic hand. Full, slightly parted lips, cherry-pink and pouting, were tugged into a nervous smile by the white teeth that nibbled at them absent-mindedly.

An arched eyebrow brought Harry back to his senses and he realised with annoyance that, yet again, he had shown Malfoy just how easily he could get to him. He scowled, and Draco allowed the corner of his mouth to twitch upwards into an amused smirk. "Oh, come on, Potter," he drawled, clearly enjoying himself, "don't tell me you're upset because I didn't call." Harry blushed, scowl deepening at the sarcasm, while Draco openly laughed at him. "How sad," the former Slytherin continued maliciously, "it was only a bit of -" He paused, leaning closer to the raven-haired man, his breath ghosting over Harry's burning cheeks. Through a curtain of blond, his eyes stared intently into Harry's own, lust and danger glinting in the steely irises, "- fun." The whisper sent shivers of desire rattling down Harry's spine and he sat still, trapped, as Draco's striking face inched ever nearer, closing in like a hunter on its kill, teasing him, terrifying him.

"Harry?" Kingsley's low, calm voice flooded over them from the other side of a partition wall and Draco's body snapped back: cool, arrogant stance resumed; face impassive, even bored.

Shaking himself, Harry glared at Draco, who merely returned the cold look with an icier one of his own that made Harry's insides twist themselves into knots. "Hang on, Kingsley, I'll be right there," he called over to his boss, making to leave and shooting one final, irritated glance over his shoulder at the blond perched on his desk. "Don't touch anything," he quipped.

"Wouldn't dream of it," retorted Draco, rolling his eyes. As Harry left, he looked appreciatively at the retreating, muscular back of the former Gryffindor, wetting his lips subconsciously in anticipation. _He'll be back_, he mused to himself, humming contentedly and resuming his playing with the fancy quill, _they always come back for more._

--

The evening of that day, Harry sat hunched over a mound of paperwork, dim light from a desk lamp illuminating countless names and figures printed on page after page of parchment. His eyes were tired and his fingers hurt from the constant scribbling, so he leant back in his chair and stretched his arms above his head, yawning like a big cat in the heat of the day. Mentally cursing the incompetence of the Arithmancy department after only a day of Hermione's absence, he span his chair around so as to rifle through another stack of files teetering on Ron's – now temporarily Draco's – desk, only to catch sight of the golden elevator doors sliding open and a tall, platinum-haired figure stepping lightly into the office.

He furrowed his dark eyebrows and peered over the top of the pile of papers. He saw Draco look around, scanning the darkened room for something, before his silver eyes opened wide and he jolted towards the water fountain, making a small triumphant noise upon locating the cloak he'd forgotten about. As he straightened after having picked the crumpled garment off the floor, dusting the heavy material with an elegant hand, he spotted Harry watching him from across the desks and smiled slightly.

Embarrassed, Harry resumed his ruffling through the sheets of parchment before he heard the soft padding of Italian shoes over carpet coming towards him, and Draco's offhand tone ask, "What are you doing at my desk, Potter?"

Harry put on an indifferent face and turned coolly towards the newcomer, "Working late, isn't it obvious?"

"Perfectly," replied Draco, pulling a chair out from underneath his desk and sitting down in it, "I only wonder why." He leant on a few spare square inches of mahogany at the very edge of the table and steepled his fingers, resting his chin on the tips and looking directly at Harry.

Confused at Draco's apparent lack of malicious intent, yet grateful of the company, Harry ran a strong, tanned hand through his thick, black hair and let out a deep sigh, stifling another yawn in the process. "Some idiot down in Arithmancy has ballsed up this month's report," he explained, irritation adding bite to his otherwise calm voice, "and _I_ have to clear it up, despite not really knowing at all what I'm doing." He shrugged helplessly and gestured at the mess that surrounded him.

Draco chuckled, and the shaking of his shoulders sent a cascade of fine, silver strands of hair into his face, where they burned golden in the lamplight.

When Harry made to turn back to his work, he was stopped by a slender hand placed firmly on his shoulder. "Take a break, Harry, you look exhausted."

Emerald eyes narrowed, and Harry questioned amusedly, "What happened to Potter?"

"We're alone, aren't we?" answered Draco with a grin, not lifting his stormy gaze from Harry's bronzed face.

Harry nodded his head and agreed quietly, "We are alone."

The words hung in the air, an invitation to disaster. Draco's lids lowered over his mercury eyes and he moved forwards, placing his other hand lightly on Harry's thigh. Dipping lower over the raven-haired man, Draco hesitated, pulling his head back ever so slightly and letting a puff of air flutter out of his mouth onto Harry's cheek. Silence. Lamplight.

Contact. Harry edged his nose to Draco's, nuzzling, hesitant. Their faces danced, circling, breathing, until lips brushed lips and Harry's hands wound themselves into Draco's silky hair, pulling him closer. Shaking breaths and trembling fingers accompanied a tentative kiss, then another, snatching tastes of each other again and again.

The time it took to break apart grew each time they touched, mouths becoming hungry. Scrabbling hands tugged at ties and collars, the heat between them igniting, fire and lust echoing in their ragged breathing. Draco's swollen lips pulled away from a kiss, Harry's teeth clinging onto the bottom one, raking against tender flesh, and hot pressure was administered to Harry's cheek, jawbone, earlobe, neck, tongue working the skin, sucking and biting.

A moan, breaking the silence, from Harry brought Draco back, lips colliding again with bruising force. Harry pushed up, out of his seat, and Draco sank onto the desk, papers ruffling. A quill was disturbed, and as it fell to the floor with a soft _fwump_, the ding of the elevator reverberated through the room like a wake up call. Draco's ministrations on Harry's belt buckle halted, and Harry's tanned fingers stopped pulling at the knot of Draco's tie.

Draco rolled his head to the side, saw the golden doors slide open, and looked worriedly back at Harry. The former Gryffindor looked utterly disappointed at having been interrupted, attempting a dejected smile and muttering, "That'll be the cleaner, then."

Sure enough, just as Draco had sprung off the desk, straightened his tie and smoothed his hair, a young witch with a cleaning trolley trundled out of the lift, chewing gum and humming loudly to herself. Harry flopped back into his chair, throwing a pleading look at Draco, who was hurriedly putting on his cloak. He shot an incredulous look back at Harry through a curtain of hair, turned and threw an arrogant flick of his hand in Harry's direction, pushing past the cleaner in the doorway, slipping into the golden box and disappearing from view with a rattle of the closing grille.

Harry breathed out slowly and kneaded his temples with his knuckles, turning his attention back to the enormous pile of paper he had to deal with. He retrieved the dropped quill, pulled some sheaves of parchment towards him and began writing. "Who's that?" asked the girl, jabbing her thumb towards the now shut lift doors.

Harry looked up from his work. "Draco Malfoy, Ron's replacement for the fortnight," he answered.

"Oh, I see." The cleaner leant against her trolley, blowing bubble after bubble, lilac and blue baubles of colour collecting on the ceiling above her head before popping. "Giving you grief?" she questioned in a sympathetic tone as Harry pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes and yawned.

"What?" Harry flushed slightly and coughed, "Oh, yeah. Yeah, he is."

**So, once again, apologies for the extremely long delay. If it's any consolation, I feel very, very bad about having neglected this for so long. I put some nice almost-smut in to make up for my rubbishness, is that okay?**

**Reviews make Rosie a happy writer, and super-happy writers write super-quickly!**


	6. Your Loss

**A/N: Look how well I'm doing in not having months and months between updates! Thanks a million for reading, and enjoy!**

_Chapter Six_

Your Loss

Harry jabbed viciously at his lunch, tanned fingers tightly gripping the fork with which he was mentally mutilating Draco Malfoy's tauntingly perfect face. It had only been three days, but Harry felt like he had been putting up with Draco's public cold-shouldering and private teasing for a lifetime. He couldn't decide whether he loved it or hated it.

He loved the moments when Draco would grab his tie and haul him close unexpectedly, and they would stand perfectly still, breathing in one another's excitement, relishing in the tension between them, but hated how footsteps or shuffling paper tore them apart. Draco would drop Harry's tie as quick as a curse, and resume his position as Disdainful Bastard before Harry had time to even register that they'd parted. He loved when Draco's hand slipped itself between Harry's shirt and jacket, tantalisingly close to his burning skin, slender fingers dancing over cotton while the blond gently bit at Harry's ear from behind, yet hated the way that Draco would look straight through him should they ever be anywhere near other people.

He loved thinking that he and Draco had something, but loathed and despised how the former Slytherin treated him like some sort of private plaything, as if he were ashamed to associate himself with Harry in public.

Slamming his fork down, Harry pushed back his chair and stood up, suddenly decisive. This had to stop. He had to either have all or nothing; he couldn't carry on with Draco's agonising half-promises and snatched moments of intimacy.

Harry knew where he'd be: at his desk, alone. Draco didn't make much of an effort when it came to intradepartmental relations – why should he? He was leaving in a week and a half. Leaving. No doubt Harry would see him around - in the street, in clubs, at parties – but he would no longer have the whole day in which to admire the beautiful blond at his leisure. Already Harry had come to crave the rare moments when Draco though he was truly alone, not knowing the office and its vantage points very well, and Harry could watch as he fiddled or doodled or yawned or stretched without pretence.

It was ridiculous really; one kiss in a club, a Wedding Fuck and a grope after work and Harry was hooked.

When he arrived at their shared office, Draco was indeed there, sprawled on his chair like a king in his throne, feet resting on their desks, hands behind his head. He looked bored.

Harry cleared his throat, and Draco rolled his neck so that he could see who had interrupted his valued musing time. Upon seeing Harry, and Harry alone, Draco's lips curled into a feral grin and he ran a hand through his platinum hair, leaving it ruffled and playful.

Harry cursed under his breath and fixed his gaze two inches above Draco's bed-head. "Look," he stated, more calmly than he felt, "I'm sick of this half-relationship… thing we've got going here." From underneath his fringe, Draco raised an eyebrow at Harry's insinuation that what they were doing even came close to being called a relationship, but said nothing. Harry was standing tall, awkwardly leaning against the doorframe as he attempted to assert himself. "We're either together or we're not. I'm not fucking around anymore."

Draco merely looked at him, amused and thoroughly irritating in his silence. Harry shifted, and scratched at the back of his neck, eyes flicking from Draco, to the floor, to Draco again, as if checking that the blond wasn't about to disappear. Finally, Draco heaved in a great sigh and turned himself back to his desk, saying with a mockingly sincere nod of his head, "Well, that's a shame." As he took quill in hand, ready to begin a report, he glanced over his shoulder at the bewildered former Gryffindor and twisted his lips into a smirk, "I'm always here if you change your mind," then turned his back to Harry once more and started to write.

Brain working furiously, Harry realised that this was a rejection and flushed, grateful Draco's head was bent low over the sheet of parchment he was scribbling on. He paused, indecisive and lost for a second, before setting his shoulders and walking back out of the office. "Right," he mumbled to himself, trying to ignore the sinking feeling tugging at his gut, "Well, that's that then."

**Ooh, it's short. Sorry about that.**

**Tell me what you think?**


	7. Don't

**A/N: This is coming along a storm now – I have managed to rekindle my absolute infatuation with this pairing. Go me! This, I feel, is a bit… pfft. But it is necessary (and I quite like it), and the next chapter is a whole load of drama to make up for it. Enjoy!**

_Chapter Seven_

Don't

"Hey! That's mine!"

Draco's hand halted in mid-air on its way towards a small cardboard box packed half-full of stationery, a mug and several files of parchment. His pale fingers were clasped around an expensive looking eagle feather quill with a delicate gold nib, fine cursive letters etched into the metal, and he brought it curiously to his face. "Harry James Potter," he read aloud, peering at the flamboyant script through narrowed grey eyes, "So it is."

The feather was held out to Harry, who took it back and placed it gently on his own desk before turning to watch the blonde beside him once more, sitting perched on the edge of the mahogany table.

Irritated at Harry's apparent concern that more of his office things may go awry, Draco swivelled in his chair to face the former Gryffindor, demanding, "What do you want, Potter?"

"Oh, nothing," fumbled Harry, who had been lost in his own thoughts, staring at the blonde through slightly glazed eyes. He shook his head, raven hair flopping hopelessly into his face, and straightened up, making to leave the shared office.

Draco smirked. "No, you were watching me." He eyed the shorter man, sweeping his eyes over the Quidditch-toned figure still obvious beneath stiff cotton. "You want something," he pressed, thin lips curling into an arrogant, knowing grin.

Harry flushed ever so slightly, tanned complexion gaining a rosy tint in the cheeks and he insisted, "No, no. I was just -" He threw his hands in the air, shrugging his shoulders, seeming to struggle for the right word. "- thinking," he finished lamely.

"I see," smirked Draco, not moving from his seat, stormy eyes remaining fixed upon the squirmingly uncomfortable man before him.

After a heartbeat's silence Harry muttered, "Well, bye then," the tiniest hint of dejection creeping into his otherwise distant tone. He turned away for the second time and strode towards the door.

A gentle pressure on his forearm, however, prevented Harry from leaving, and he looked over his shoulder to see that Draco had stood up, that familiar carnal longing glinting deep in his mercury irises. Harry sighed and braced himself mentally, clamping shut his emerald eyes for a split second in an attempt to disperse the wild thoughts that were already flitting through his mind.

"I'm leaving today," stated Draco, hand still clasping near Harry's wrist, pulling himself closer to the darker man.

A shiver of expectant desire crawled down Harry's spine as Draco's leg slipped between his own, pushing him against the doorframe. "I know," he breathed, palms against Draco's chest in silent protestation.

The former Slytherin ducked his head towards Harry's, whispering, "And I know you said it's all or nothing, but -" He paused, teeth nipping at Harry's earlobe, "- the world isn't a clear cut place." A slender hand reached out behind him and grasped the cool metal of the door handle, pulling it closed as Draco continued, "Not everything is black and white: there are -" his tongue raked down Harry's neck, beneath his jutting jaw, "- _grey areas._ I speak from experience," he hissed. "You see. It's all. About. Compromise." His words were punctuated by small, rough bites to Harry's throat, and the former Gryffindor let out a groan.

"Stop it," muttered Harry, attempting to push away the taller man.

Draco ignored him, slowly trailing kisses towards the corner of Harry's mouth, murmuring, "There's nothing wrong with a bit of fun every now and then, Harry."

"Stop it," the former Gryffindor repeated in a forceful whisper, drawing his head back, as far away from Draco as possible.

The blonde continued, leaning closer. "If it bothers you that much, think of it as a hobby. We both know you want it really." His words rushed hot over Harry's skin, and Draco pulled back, grinning, before making to crash their lips together.

"I said, _stop it_," hissed Harry. Draco blinked in surprise at the strong hand clutching his jaw, preventing him from closing the distance between them and holding his head still, framed by bronzed fingers.

Using Draco's temporary stunned rigidity to extricate himself from the blonde's intoxicating hold, Harry grabbed the handle to his left and pushed it down, swinging the door open and finally leaving his office.

Wide grey eyes followed the raven-haired man down the corridor and out of sight before Draco snapped his head around and resumed packing the few possessions his desk had accumulated over the past fortnight, slamming an inkpot a little too vigorously into the cardboard box, stuffing a book a little too roughly in between a couple of folders. _Fine._

**Oh dear, yet another tiny chapter.**

**But don't worry! Expect more really quite soon!**

**And review! Please?  
**


	8. Turning the Tables

**A/N: I thought I'd posted this already! But I obviously hadn't! Oops. Sorry! So this is late, despite it being finished on time, because I can be unendingly stupid sometimes. Enjoy!**

_Chapter Eight_

Turning the Tables

Harry's extravagantly flaming cocktail stood, ignored, on the glossy countertop, bright blue flames sparking and spitting unnoticed, then slowly dying down to leave the alcohol plain and nondescript in its glass.

It had been over a week since Ron had returned from Aruba with Hermione, and the office had picked up its previous day-to-day routine easily, as if the red-head had never left. Harry seemed to be the only one who even remembered Draco's brief presence, let alone missed it.

The newlyweds were dancing far out to the middle of the flashing floor, vibrant orange and bushy brown bobbing conspicuously out of time to the heavy, thudding bass-line, gangly Ron and curvaceous Hermione seeming to choose instead to move with the wild, screeching synth of the melody.

Harry prodded at a small puddle of spilt beer morosely, an overwhelming feeling of doomed déjà-vu swallowing him into his own, self-pitying world. Here he was: in a club, again; single, again; half-drunk, again. If he wasn't careful, he'd end up kissing Draco, again; abandoned, again.

Naively enough, Harry had believed before that it really was just a simple case of 'he loves me, he loves me not', of right and wrong, and had been fully prepared to give up contact with the blond if it meant maintaining. But, like Draco had said, not everything is black and white. Infatuation, it seemed, was not as cut and dry as Harry had thought it was.

Yes, Draco was a complete tease, and yes, Harry hated not being taken seriously, but a tiny, annoying, niggling part of his brain ached to feel wanted again, if only for minutes at a time.

Attempting to dispel any thoughts that revolved around the former Slytherin, Harry cast his eyes to the heaving dance-floor, immensely glad that he didn't have Ginny dragging him away from the safety of the bar and to his humiliation, content to sit back and watch, drinking in the frenzy from a safe distance.

His emerald irises were just flitting to look at the DJ when he caught a glimpse of striking white blond amidst the clamour of dark clothes and muted hair. Craning his neck to see around a pillar, Harry could indeed see Draco on the far side of the floor wearing tight, indigo jeans and a loose, black shirt rolled up at the sleeves, unbuttoned and exposing his chest. Stupidly, as though he were fifteen again and back in Madam Puddifoot's with Cho Chang, Harry's guts flipped, insides tying themselves into knots at the coincidence.

Through the strobe, smoke and flailing limbs, Harry kept his eyes on the blond, brow furrowed, alcohol-addled brain attempting to figure out how Draco had gained an extra arm, and how he had twisted it so that it was clasping his own denim-clad arse.

The answer became all too clear moments later, when a second head leant into view and snatched Draco into a passionate, rhythmic kiss. Harry faltered, jealousy fluttering at the pit of his stomach, but carried on watching the pair while he sipped broodingly at his drink. When the second man pulled away, however, and Harry was able to see his face, he choked and spluttered cocktail onto the bar, eyes wide and disbelieving. It was Blaise Zabini.

Harry blinked, then pinched himself forcibly on the arm. This was all far too familiar.

Maybe the cosmos was trying to tell him something.

He continued to watch the two dance until Draco whispered – or, more likely, shouted above the throbbing music – in his partner's ear and weaved away through the throng of wild clubbers towards the bar.

Harry began to panic like an innocent first-year singled out by Snape's murderous stare, too late in spinning around on his barstool to avoid catching Draco's eye.

Expecting a sickeningly self-assured smirk in his direction, despite Draco's apparent off-the-market status, Harry began lowering his head in order to avoid disaster. However, instead a cold, steely glare swept once over him before turning to the barman, Draco placing his order as if he hadn't even seen Harry.

The dismissive look froze Harry's insides into a twisted, confused mess. There wasn't even the slightest trace of the playful glint perpetually shining in the depths of Draco's mercury eyes, no warm silver flecks among the ice of his storm-cloud irises. It was as if a switch had been flipped, shutting down any memories of the past month, resetting Draco to the cold, callous, arrogant Slytherin Harry had known at school.

Concerned, and slightly emboldened by the heady mix of spirits coursing through his veins, Harry called out, "Draco!"

The blond turned to face him resentfully. "Potter?" he answered in a bored voice.

The indifference emanating from the taller man was almost painful, and spiked within Harry a desperate desire to be recognised, acknowledged, _wanted._

"What are you doing here?" demanded Harry, running a bronzed hand through his jet hair.

Draco sneered, glancing over his shoulder towards Blaise. "Isn't it obvious?"

Seeing the wounded look in Harry's eyes and the tug of teeth against the raven-haired man's bottom lip, Draco let out a short, cruel laugh. "Jealous, are we?" he scoffed, narrowing his thin eyebrows, "If I remember correctly, it was _you_ that turned _me _down. You had your chance, Potter," quipped Draco, snatching the two bottles waiting for him on the bar and turning on his heel.

As silver-blond hair bobbed through the heaving crowd and into the darkness, away, Harry furrowed his brow and heavily sat back down, nursing his drink with a renewed sense of injustice. True, it had been him that had ended things between them, but that was only because Draco had refused to cooperate, to commit.

And what had caused the sudden change in Draco's attitude? He had known before that Harry wasn't happy with their situation, but that hadn't stopped him trying; that hadn't doused the spark of lust Harry ignited within him.

So what had?

Harry forest green eyes meandered back to Draco and Blaise, practically fucking nest to a tower of speakers now blasting out mind-numbingly heavy drum and bass, electric blue bottles already half drained and forgotten on the corner of the stage. He saw Draco grab the second ex-Slytherin's hand and begin to pull him towards a set of stairs leading to a raised podium. He saw Blaise laugh incredulously and stay firmly where he was, reaching out with his free arm to beckon Draco back. He saw, even from the other side of the throbbing dance-floor, Draco arch an eyebrow and cross his arms, pulling his hand away from Blaise's, and he saw Blaise droop and roll his eyes, slinking after the blond as he wound his way up the steps and into the spotlight, resuming his position wrapped around a now smiling Draco as they began to dance again.

Snorting into his drink, Harry thought mutinously to himself, _Bastard always gets his way._

And then it hit him. His mouth opened and shut in silent comprehension as he remembered forcibly pushing Draco away, physically stopping the blond from kissing him, blatantly refusing the spoilt Malfoy heir what he wanted.

Harry thought back over their previous encounters, each and every one on Draco's terms, Draco's whim. Harry had protested before, but never refused; Draco had always got his way. In denying the Slytherin, Harry had hurt his pride; confused a man so used to the world conforming to his every wish; insulted the pureblood by turning him down.

Draco was sulking.

It was childish and ridiculous, but utterly, inescapably true.

Harry chanced a last sideward look at the dancing couple and slyly smiled to himself, downing the dregs of his cocktail and pushing his way through the crowd. He would give Draco what he wanted. He would give it willingly, and then snatch it back. This time, he would be in control.

Compromise, it turned out, was a concept _Draco _was going to have to get used to.

**This was an absolute bitch of a chapter to write. It was so hard trying to articulate what I meant, and I think I may have screwed up slightly on the thought-processes and logic of the whole thing.**

**Tell me what you think?**


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